More Pain Than It's Worth
by pumpkin-patch
Summary: What happens when living forever brings more pain than it's worth? Slightly AU.
1. Chapter 1 Happy Birthday

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes and am in no way affiliated with them. I derive no profit from this story.**

_**Author's Note:**This is my first shot at a Heroes fan fic, so it might be a little OOC. This fic is set after Season 3. It may be considered to be AU. Also, a warning: this fic mentions suicide. _

_I hope you like it!!_

Her eighteenth birthday…

Normally, a person turning eighteen would be excited, happy that they are finally free from their parents' rule, and ignoring the fact that they now hold many more responsibilities. They would be celebrating with their friends, staying out late at night and probably sneaking back into their house early in the morning. Yeah, that's what most eighteen-year-olds do.

Claire, however, spent the first half of her eighteenth birthday in her room, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Eighteen years old, and she still looked like the sixteen-year-old cheerleader she had been before she discovered her ability. Eighteen years old, and doomed to remain in the body of a sixteen-year-old. To most, it would seem like paradise, but to her, it was hell.

"Happy birthday, Claire."

She started slightly. She'd recognize that voice anywhere. It was the one that haunted her dreams, chased her through her high school during homecoming. It was the one that she hated and feared. It was the last one she wanted to hear.

"Sylar," she said, turning around to face the serial killer. "Come to try to kill me on my birthday? Go ahead and try."

Sylar gave a low chuckle, his long legs allowing him to cross the room in a couple of strides. He came to a stop by her bed where she sat.

"I merely came to wish you a happy birthday, but if you wish to fight, by all means, start one. After all, you are the birthday girl."

Claire said nothing. The mattress beside her dipped down as he sat down beside her.

"I remember my eighteenth birthday," he commented nonchalantly. "It was an… _interesting_ day to say the least." Claire let out a scoffing laugh.

"What'd you do? Go torture a small animal? Was it the beginning of your homicidal ways?"

Sylar shook his head.

"No. I got kicked out of my house. After all, I was an adult now. It was time to learn to live my own life." He reached out, brushing a few loose golden locks behind her ear. Claire shuddered under his touch, turning away from him and drawing her legs up to her chest. Sylar let his hand sit on her shoulder.

"Go be with your family, Claire. Enjoy this day. After all, it's not every day you turn eighteen."

The weight on the mattress shifted as he stood.

"I left you a gift, by the way. I hope you find it… inoffensive."

And then, he was gone.

Claire stood, taking the serial killer's advice and getting ready. Before she left her room, a flash of color on her desk caught her eye. She turned and looked, discovering the bouquet of silk flowers in a glass vase that was sitting on her desk. Reaching in the middle, she plucked the greeting card out. The handwriting was scrawled, but neat.

'_Immortal flowers for the immortal cheerleader._

_Happy birthday.'_

A sarcastic chuckle escaped her. How fitting.

* * *

On her twenty-first birthday, he gave her a bottle of wine… Merlot, her favorite. By now, she had her own apartment in San Francisco and a college degree in biology. She took the bottle and placed it in the wine rack he'd given to her for her twentieth.

When she turned thirty, it was a necklace. The chain was simple, silver and made of a box design. From it hung a double helix, a token of her new choice of study- genetics and biotechnology.

At forty, he snuck into her apartment in St. Louis. When she came home, she found it filled with black balloons bearing the phrase, "Over the Hill" in white letters. On her kitchen table sat a black coffee mug with yellow letters reading, "40? No, 39 and holding on for dear life." In her fridge was a small cake with matching black icing. A single candle in the shape of the number 40 sat on top of it, and in white icing was the message, "Happy Birthday, Claire."

Fifty was an interesting year. For one, she hadn't quite found a new place to settle down. On her birthday, she was still traveling across the country, searching for a new place to live as she also attempted to change her identity once again. So, on her fiftieth birthday, she received a set of books on international affairs and public policy, a new course of study she was contemplating. The next day, she settled down in Washington, DC, and later that year became a student at Georgetown, using the books to help her in her studies.

On sixty, he gave her a shoulder to cry on. Peter had just died days before, and his funeral was, ironically enough, on her birthday. So, he stood with her in the back of the crowd, trying to remain inconspicuous. When they walked up to the casket, he placed a single rose on top of it. Setting his hand on the small of her back, he gently led the sobbing girl away from her dead uncle's resting place, his black coat keeping away the bitter chill of the New York winter. In his haste to get up to the funeral, he hadn't gotten a chance to get her any material gift, useful or otherwise, so he settled for making sure she got back to her apartment safely and keeping her company until she fell asleep. For the next several years, his birthday gift to her was him watching over her, making sure she didn't do anything stupid.

Seventy saw him saving her life. _Foolish little girl,_ he had thought as he carried her still healing body back to her apartment in Pisa. _Who decides to jump off the Leaning Tower of Pisa? _Though she'd managed to knock herself unconscious from the fall, her body still healed itself, bones mending and skin regrowing. Silently, he cursed the girl's stupidity. Did she honestly think that this would work? Didn't she realize that no matter what she did, she was essentially immortal?

Perhaps it was time for him to show her once and for all that she wasn't alone.

* * *

As he walked through the small house in the middle of nowhere, Montana, Sylar couldn't keep the amused smirk off his face. All these years she said she hated him, and yet she'd kept everything he'd given her over the years, even the bottle of wine. He would've thought she'd drank that long before now. Of course, what was the use in having alcohol when you had a regenerating liver? It wasn't like either of them could get drunk.

When he came to the bedroom door, he hesitated. Should he go through with this? Would she attack him? How would she react?

"I already know you're out there," a voice came. His dark eyes shot up from where he'd been gazing at the door knob. Reaching forward, his long fingers clasped the knob, and with a deft flick of his wrist, he opened the door and walked in.

Claire was sitting on her bed, holding the vase with the flowers he'd given her a hundred years ago. Her green eyes flicked up to him.

"One hundred and eighteen years," she commented, standing and setting the vase on her dresser. "I've been alive for one hundred and eighteen years."

He said nothing, instead raising a single dark eyebrow as a gesture for her to continue.

"I'm the oldest person in the world."

"Not quite," he countered. "I've still got you beat by… sixteen years, I believe."

"I'm stuck in the body of a sixteen-year-old."

"Better than being stuck in the body of a thirty-four-year-old. At least you're still in the prime of life."

"At least you don't get carded every time you decide you need a drink." As he took a seat on her bed, Sylar couldn't help but to smirk at her words.

"You know, most women would be happy to get carded, especially at your age."

It was a backhanded compliment, and he knew it. But that was their conversation. That had always been their conversations. Insults, empty death threats and name calling… if they'd improved on anything in the past hundred years, then that was it.

"I've noticed a lack of dead people with their skull caps missing," Claire began, walking out of the bedroom into the small kitchen. Sylar stood and followed, not sure of what to make that comment. Claire leaned back against her counter, facing him. "Run out of people to kill?"

"No, more like the hunger left… for the most part." As he took a seat at her kitchen table, he lifted his dark eyes to hers. "So, what suicide attempt am I going to have to save you from this year? You've already tried jumping off a tall building, getting hit by a train, electrocution and drowning."

"I was thinking death by poison," Claire commented flippantly, as if it were no different than talking about vacation plans. "Sounds like an interesting way to go."

"You know that's not going to work. Your body will just metabolize it, just like it does alcohol and any other drug you've thrown at it." There was a pregnant pause as the two immortals looked at each other, one amused and the other numb. "Face it, Claire. You can't die."

"Well, neither can you," she spat, turning around and yanking the faucet of the sink on. The water hit the dishes violently, splashing up on her blue t-shirt. Sylar shrugged as she bent down, getting the dish detergent from under the sink.

"I never said I wanted to. Besides, I'm not the one trying to come up with a new way to kill myself every year. That's all you."

Claire turned the water off and set to cleaning the dishes that had been sitting in her sink for the past two days. When she spoke next, her voice was barely audible.

"What do you want, Sylar? What's your purpose here?"

"To wish you a happy birthday. Technically speaking, I'm the only one who can do that now. After all, we're the only two left."

Claire knew what he was getting at. She'd outlived all her relatives. Nathan was dead, killed and then impersonated for half a year by the man sitting in her kitchen. Her parents had died too, as had Lyle. She'd watched from a distance as all the other people she knew slowly grew old and died. Peter was the last she could remember, dying back in 2051.

Her hands clenched the glass she was holding a bit too tightly, and it shattered, cutting her hands. Claire removed the shards of glass and threw them in the trash as the cuts healed themselves. Sylar cocked an eyebrow, but said nothing. Finally, Claire spoke again.

"I think you've served your purpose. Now get out."

"If that's what you want." He stood and began to walk to the door. As he reached it, he stopped and turned, leaning against the wall. "You can't keep doing this to yourself, you know. These suicide attempts… they've got to stop. They're not good for your well being." Pushing himself from the wall, he walked back towards the kitchen. "You've convinced yourself that you're completely alone in the world, but you're not."

Claire barked out a laugh, throwing her head back some.

"Right. Sure. And who exactly is the other person in the world who is with me?" she asked sarcastically. Sylar didn't answer, having never been a fan of stating the obvious. Claire turned to him, her eyes dark. "If you think I'm going to spend the rest of eternity with you, then you're wrong. I'd rather be alone forever than spend it with a psychopath like you."

Though the comment stung, Sylar didn't let it show. Instead, he turned and walked back to the front door of the small cabin.

"As you wish," he said. Giving the immortal cheerleader one last look, he shook his head and walked out, the door closing behind him with what sounded like finality.

* * *

Claire never saw Sylar again. Once every ten years, she would attempt to find him, but eventually gave up. She'd never find him unless he wanted to be found. Wherever he was, though, she hoped he was at least somewhat happy, perhaps going around and killing people like the old days.

Though many things changed over the coming years, one thing remained the same. Every year on her birthday, she received a gift. True, she received some gifts from various friends she made over the years. The gifts she received from him, though, were always anonymous. They always showed up at her house or apartment after she'd been out. And they were always relevant to something she was doing in her life at that point.

Two hundred and eighteen found her sitting in a bar somewhere in North Carolina. It was relatively empty, perhaps because it was a weeknight, and people had work the next day. Claire picked up the beer she'd been nursing for the past hour, drinking it not for the buzz that she couldn't get, but more for the flavor. The bartender walked down to where she was sitting and leaned against the counter.

"So, what's got a lovely young lady like yourself here on a night like this?" he asked. Claire sighed, setting her beer down on the counter.

"Just… needed a drink," she answered. The bartender gestured to her necklace.

"That's a nice piece of jewelry you got there. A double helix as the charm." He looked up at her. "You into genetics or something like that?"

"Yeah, something like that." She reached up and fingered the charm some, a nostalgic smile crossing her face.

"Someone special gave it to you, didn't they?"

"A friend gave it to me several years back, when I first started college. It was a birthday present." The bartender nodded.

"You seen this friend recently?"

Claire shook her head, golden locks flying around her.

"No, I haven't seen him in a long time."

It was hard to keep the loneliness out of her voice. She hadn't expected him to keep his promise that day in Montana. But he had, and now, she was regretting what she'd said.

"How long's it been?"

Dropping her head, Claire shut her eyes as a couple tears leaked from them. She roughly wiped them away and held the double helix charm in her hand.

"Feels like it's been a hundred years."


	2. Chapter 2 Reunion

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes. I gain no profit from this story.**

_**Author's Note:**__So, I decided to take what was going to be a series of one-shots and turn it into what may be a three or four-shot (strange sounding, I know). I'm currently working on the third part of this little project. However, I'm also in the process of taking finals and moving out of my dorm, so the next chapter might be a little delayed._

_Hope you enjoy!!_

_Warnings: Contains mentions of suicide and mild cursing. Slightly AU and slightly OOC in the beginning._

* * *

2209.

A smirk crossed a dark haired man's face as he thought of the year. 2209. Who would've thought that he'd live to see that? Then again, his mom always said he was special. Maybe she was right.

Mind you, living this long didn't come without consequence. In the past thirty years, he'd lived on four different continents and in nearly 20 different countries. Thirty years before that, he'd witnessed the fourth world war. In fact, he'd done more than witness it- he'd served in it. It was by his actions that the world barely avoided being blown up.

Of course, having served in the fourth world war meant that there had most certainly been a third world war, and indeed, he had served in that as well. Neither conflict had sat well with him, and now, he spent many of his nights waking up in a cold sweat from the nightmares he had.

In the past one hundred years, he'd changed his identity so many times that he sometimes forgot exactly what alias he was going by this decade. He'd traveled the world, seen all the sights. During his travels, he'd picked up a trinket here and there, and possibly a power if the opportunity presented itself. Mind you, his murdering days were long over. He'd given that up nearly one hundred and seventy five years ago. No... now he got the powers through empathy. He found he gained fewer enemies that way.

Indeed, the man had lived a long and full life. For the most part, he was very happy with it. What he didn't like, though, was the fact that he was so lonely. It wasn't that he couldn't make friends. No, he could be very charming when he wanted to. One smile, and he had all the ladies. And men, for the most part, found him to be a rather honest and frank person. Yes, he'd had friends during his life. Problem was, he kept outliving them. In fact, he'd probably been to more funerals than he had birthday celebrations.

There was only one other person like him, and she never wanted to see his face ever again.

Closing his eyes, he let his head rest against the cool glass of the sliding door in his Paris apartment. The scene replayed in his mind, like a never ending movie.

"_What do you want, Sylar? What's your purpose here?"_

"_To wish you a happy birthday. Technically speaking, I'm the only one who can do that now. After all, we're the only two left."_

_He'd hit a sore spot, and he knew it. There was the sound of breaking glass. He looked up to see the blonde girl pulling shards of glass from her hands, the cuts healing almost instantly._

"_I think you've served your purpose. Now get out."_

"_If that's what you want." He stood from his spot at her kitchen table and began walking to the door. Pausing, he turned around and faced her, leaning against the wall by the door."You can't keep doing this to yourself, you know. These suicide attempts… they've got to stop. They're not good for your well being." With a gentle shove, he pushed his tall body from where he'd been leaning against the wall. "You've convinced yourself that you're completely alone in the world, but you're not."_

_The girl let out a sarcastic laugh, her head tipping back as her shoulders shook some._

"_Right. Sure. And who exactly is the other person in the world who is with me?"_

_He didn't answer, knowing the girl would realize what he was getting at before long. She turned to face him, her green eyes dark. "If you think I'm going to spend the rest of eternity with you, then you're wrong. I'd rather be alone forever than spend it with a psychopath like you."_

_The comment stung. It stung badly. But, he didn't let it show. After all, she was the birthday girl, and they always got what they wanted on days like this._

"_As you wish."_

_He walked back toward the door. With his hand on the doorknob, he turned and looked at the blonde one last time. Shaking his head, he opened the door and walked out._

Opening his eyes, Sylar let a rare sigh escape him. While he was able to handle loneliness better than most, it still got to him at times. He may be immortal, but he was still human. He could feel emotions, despite what others may think of him.

Perhaps it was time for another visit. After all, it had been what? A hundred years? Certainly he could claim that his memory had failed him... that he forgot the promise he'd made her back in that house in Montana.

He pushed away from the door he was leaning on, shaking his head as he ran a hand over his face. And then what? Get chased from wherever she was living again? Be told that she'd rather be alone than live with him? He wasn't sure if he could handle going through that again.

A sarcastic laugh escaped him. He'd been run through by a sword, shot by arrows, infected with the Shanti virus and shot at by federal agents, yet he couldn't take the sting of being told to get out of someone's life. He considered it pathetic, but it was the truth. Though she attempted to pretend it wasn't true, Sylar had changed over the course of the past two hundred years.

Down below him, Sylar could hear the festivities taking place in the city. After all, it was the new year. Technically speaking, he should be out there joining them. He couldn't bring himself to do it, though. It just felt like he needed to be staying home.

He began to pace the living room in his apartment, his long legs allowing him to cross the room in only a few strides. He'd always preferred to be alone over being with someone else. So, why was it now that he needed to be with someone? Why was is now that he began to be lonely?

Turning to his bedroom, Sylar raised his hand and gave a flick of his fingers. His coat flew out of the room and he caught it, pulling the long black garment on. Another flick of his fingers, and his black scarf soon followed. As he walked towards the door, he held out his other hand, his wallet and keys flying to him. A deft flick of his wrist, and the door opened. He walked out of it, and with a barely visible nod of his head, the door slammed shut, locking itself.

He didn't know where he was going. All he knew was he had to get out of Paris. He might return at some point. It might be hours, days, weeks or even years, but he'd most certainly return. After all, he'd bought the apartment several years back. It wasn't like he had to worry about paying rent.

Perhaps when he returned, he wouldn't be so alone.

* * *

He wasn't sure how he'd wound up here, but for right now, Asheville, North Carolina was seeming like a nice place to be. Hunching his shoulders against the bitter wind, Sylar made his way into a small bar that was slightly off the beaten path. It was relatively empty, which was unsurprising considering it was a weekday. Walking up to the counter, he gave the bartender a small smile. The bartender gave him a strange look, but spoke to him anyway.

"What'll you have?" he asked.

"Whatever you think is best."

The bartender nodded to him and walked into the back. He returned with a mug containing a light gold liquid.

"House special," he told Sylar. Sylar reached into his pocket to pay the man, but the bartender shook his head. "No need, Bud. This one's on the house."

Sylar laid down a few bills as a tip and wordlessly thanked the bartender for his generosity. Then, he took his beer and found himself a table in the back of the small bar. On the television was talks of the plans for colonizing Mars. As he took a sip of the drink, he couldn't help but to shake his head. It was never going work. Didn't they realize that?

Soon, the door to the bar opened and closed, a flurry of snow flying in with its motion. A vaguely familiar person sat down at the bar. The bartender walked over to the person, and took her order. Pretending to be interested in the football game that was playing on another television, Sylar silently watched the new person. Why were they so familiar?

He watched as the bartender walked over to the person, setting the rag he'd been using to clean the counter to the side as he made some small talk with the customer.

"So, what's got a lovely young lady like yourself here on a night like this?" he asked. The person sighed, setting their drink down.

"Just… needed a drink," she answered. Sylar raised his eyebrows. That voice... he knew it from somewhere.

"That's a nice piece of jewelry you got there. A double helix as the charm. You into genetics or something like that?"

"Yeah, something like that."

Instantly, warning bells started going off in Sylar's mind. He'd only knew one person who had a necklace with a double helix charm on it. In fact, he'd been the one to hand make it, making sure every bit of it was completely perfect.

"Someone special gave it to you, didn't they?"

"A friend gave it to me several years back, when I first started college. It was a birthday present." The bartender nodded.

"You seen this friend recently?"

The girl shook her head, and for the first time Sylar noticed the blonde hair.

"No, I haven't seen him in a long time."

"How long's it been?"

"Feels like it's been a hundred years."

Sylar had to fight to avoid dropping his jaw. There was no way this was possible. No way at all. It had to be a dream. Reaching down, Sylar intentionally cut his thumb on an exposed screw in the seat. He swore silently as the pain shot through his thumb and then watched as it healed. Nope. He was definitely not dreaming.

What were the chances, though, of them both coming here on the same night? Was this some strange coincidence? Surely there had to be some underlying factor here.

Silently, Sylar went through all the abilities he'd picked up over the past two hundred years. Perhaps one of those was to explain for what was currently taking place. Nope. Not possible. He didn't have any abilities like that... at least, none that he knew of.

The bartender announced the last call, and the girl at the counter stood, pulling her light brown pea coat on over her dark green sweater. That sweater looked familiar... he knew it from somewhere.

Pushing himself to his feet, Sylar downed the last bit of his beer and pulled his jacket on. Wrapping his scarf around his neck, he laid a twenty down on under his glass before walking out of the bar. The girl hadn't gotten too far away. After all, it was snowing out. Everyone was trying to be careful while walking around.

He followed the girl from a distance, trying to make sure he didn't spook her. More than once, he'd accidentally scared someone when he was in the dark. It seemed that was just a part of his person that he just couldn't get rid of.

The girl led him to a small apartment building. So this is where she'd decided to call home now. He managed to slip into the building just before the door shut. As she took the elevator, he took the stairs. He watched as she walked down the hall to her apartment. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door to the stairwell and walked down the hall. As he stood outside her door, he shifted uneasily on his feet. He could hear the sounds of her moving around in it; she didn't seem to be going to sleep anytime soon. Did he really want to do this,though?

In a decisive movement, he raised his hand and knocked on the door. Muttering came from the other side, but soon enough it whipped open. The girl's eyes traveled up his lithe form, before settling on his face, her mouth forming an O.

"Sylar?" she asked, amazed. He nodded, jamming his hands in the pockets of his coat.

"Yeah... it's me." There was an awkward pause. "I, uh... I saw you at the bar back there... wanted to see how you were doing... followed you here..."

He trailed off, shaking his head as he ran a hand over his dark hair.

"Claire, I'm sorry. It's late; I never should've come here... never should've bothered you. I'll-... I'll be going now." He glanced over her shoulder into the apartment and then let his gaze settle back on her small form. "Time's been easy on you, Claire. Good to see you're doing well. I'll see you in another hundred years, I guess."

He turned to leave, but a hand on his arm stopped him. Turning, he looked over his shoulder. Claire had reached out, and was now grasping his arm with a gentle grip.

"Where have you _been_?" she asked, voice cracking some. "I looked all over for you! And then, that war broke out, and I couldn't travel anymore." She broke off, shaking her head. "I looked for you for over fifty years."

It seemed the long separation hadn't sat well with either person involved.

"I've been here and there," he said casually. "Spent a few years in Japan, some in Canada and I think a few in Lithuania... before the war broke out." He let an uneasy smile cross his features. "I've been to a little bit of everywhere. I'm in Paris currently... for the seventh time."

Before he could realize what was taking place, Claire was dragging him into her apartment, brushing the melting snow off his jacket.

"I see you're still wearing the Chucks," she commented, taking a look at his feet. Sylar shrugged.

"Yeah... the classics are the best. People just think they look weird now. Doesn't stop me from wearing them." He gestured to her sweater after removing his coat, revealing a black dress shirt. "You're wearing the sweater I gave you. What was that? One hundred and twenty-three?"

"One hundred and twenty-four," she corrected. "Close, but no cigar." He nodded, sitting down at the table in the small kitchen.

"So, what've you been doing with yourself?" he asked. Claire shrugged, taking a seat opposite him.

"I've moved around here and there. Became the 'youngest' person to receive a doctorate in Radioactive Sciences." A sad look fell on her face. "After that, I worked for the government some... I designed that weapon that almost ended the wold."

A lighthearted chuckle escaped Sylar.

"I had a feeling something that dangerous had to come from someone like you," he commented with a grin, shaking his head.

"It's not like you're any better," Claire shot back. "You spent over twenty-five years killing people."

Sylar looked up at her, his dark eyes unreadable. It seemed that even living for over two hundred years failed to teach the two immortals basic communications skills.

"I wasn't in control then, Claire. I was... God, I was so messed up." He paused. "Let's just say I've moved past that part." Claire couldn't help but to frown.

"You've killed since then."

It wasn't a question.

Sylar ran a hand over his head, not wanting to confirm her suspicions. Even he and his messed up mind knew it wasn't the best idea.

"Yes. But not for powers. I-... I served. I fought in those two wars... tried to avoid killing people. Couldn't avoid killing people." He let a sarcastic smirk cross his face. "Guess you were right all along. Guess I am just some psychopathic serial killer."

He pushed himself to his feet, accidentally knocking the table. Claire barely managed to catch the vase with silk flowers in it before it hit the ground.

"I should probably go now. Gotta get back to Paris," Sylar said, walking over to where his coat sat. Claire followed, looking obviously hurt.

"When will I see you again?" she asked. "Another hundred years?"

Sylar nodded.

"Yeah, that sounds about right." He pulled his coat on and walked towards the door. "Take care of yourself, Claire. And happy two hundred and eighteenth birthday."

With a distracted flick of his wrist, Sylar opened the apartment door and walked out. He barely got to the stairwell, though, before he heard footsteps running after him. Stopping, he waited to hear what Claire had to say.

"You were right, back in 2109," she blurted. "When you said that I'd convinced myself that I was alone in the world? You were right."

Sylar turned and looked at the blonde girl.

"I'd convinced myself that I didn't need anyone... that I could handle this on my own. Do you know how many funerals I've been to, though? Do you know how many people I've watched die?

"I tried to get close to people, but I just couldn't. Eventually they'd realize something was off. After all, it's hard to miss your friend not changing at all over the course of ten years. So, I stopped talking to people. I moved around more times than I can count on my fingers, toes and any other various limbs I've lost combined. I told myself I was fine... that I was better off alone.

"The thing is, I'm not better off alone! I can't take this anymore! The lonely nights, drinking alone in small bars... I can't do it anymore." Claire looked up at the older man. "You were right, Sylar. I need someone like me in my life." Sylar cocked an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. Deep beneath that black façade, though, he could feel his emotions begin to churn, creating an inner turmoil. He placed a hand on his temples and rubbed them, letting out a long breath as he attempted to remain calm.

"I never said that," he commented. "I just said the suicide attempts needed stop."

"You basically implied it."

Sylar shook his head as years of pent up resentment began to claw its way to the surface. Pacing a couple of times, he ran a hand over his head. He had to remain calm... it was _imperative_ that he remain calm.

_Just breathe,_ he told himself. _It'll be Ok._

"You know, this is rich, coming from you," he nearly growled. "This is absolutely rich. I'm told to get out of your life one century and asked to be your friend the next." He let out a low, almost menacing chuckle. Claire found herself growing increasingly wary, feeling like she'd somehow unleashed the monster from so long ago.

"You called me a psychopath!" Sylar yelled, whipping around to face the girl. All thoughts of staying calm were lost as he bent down and got in her face. "I was nothing but civil to you, offered you a shoulder to lean on, a friend, and you essentially spat in my face. And now, you're asking for what I offered you a century ago? Things don't work like that, Claire! You can't be a bitch one day and then beg for friendship the next! That's not how a friendship works. Even I know that."

"And how do you think I felt when I tried to find you all those years ago!" Claire shouted back. "Don't lie to me, _Gabriel_. You were using your powers to avoid me, weren't you!"

Sylar visibly flinched at the sound of his given name.

"I may have used them, but that's only because I was trying to honor some one hundred and eighteen year old brat's birthday wish! I was sacrificing my happiness for yours!"

Slowly, Sylar felt himself slipping into his old ways. His hands clenched by his side, fingers occasionally twitching. Claire noticed the subtle movement and smirked some.

"What are you going to do, Sylar? Kill me? Go ahead. Try it. Embrace your old homicidal ways."

With a twitch of his fingers, Sylar had Claire pinned against the wall.

"I could, but we both know it wouldn't work," he spat.

Letting her down, he turned and stormed out of the apartment building. Snow was still falling heavily, but Sylar didn't care. Instead, he proceeded to storm down an alley and pace several times. Finally, with a growl, he kicked the side of the building near him.

For nearly two-hundred years, he'd worked on controlling the hunger and rage inside him. In fact, he'd almost had it down to an art. And then, this girl came through and tore down everything he'd done... reverted him to something similar to what he'd been.

A sinister smile began to cross his face as a low, almost maniacal chuckle escaped him. His dark eyes slowly rose from where he'd been staring at the ground. The passive demeanor that had once been in them was gone though. Now, they were cold and lifeless, just like they'd been one hundred and seventy-five years ago.

So Claire still thought he was a psychopathic serial killer, did she?

"Might as well prove her right."


	3. Chapter 3 Wish Come True

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes. I gain no profit from this story.**

_Author's Note: Here's the last installment in this little project. Sorry it took a little longer to get posted. Thanks to everyone who gave reviews! They were so kind and absolutely made my day! You guys are the greatest!_

* * *

"Our top story today comes out of Phoenix, Arizona, where authorities are currently investigating what appears to be the fifth death in a string of seemingly related murders..."

With a decisive push of a button, Claire turned the TV in her office off, muttering under her breath.

"These killings have stretched across the United States, starting in New York City with the death of Cameron Kirkson," she said with a sarcastic eye roll. Though authorities were at a loss for who was committing these crimes, Claire was positive she knew who it was.

Sylar.

Every since that night in 2209, he'd been killing people in various countries around the world. The first was an evolved human in Paris who had the ability of light manipulation.

_As if he needed any more powers,_ Claire thought sarcastically. Since then, almost ninety years had passed, and the killings continued. No one, however, seemed to piece the international cases together. It seemed the countries were still too concerned about saving face than actually attempting to bring him to justice. Claire had attempted to track him, but even she knew it was impossible. When Sylar wanted to be found, he'd be found. Otherwise, trying to catch him was about as difficult as using a net to catch the wind. Not only was it nigh impossible, but it was stupid to even attempt.

Standing from behind her desk, Claire grabbed her coat from the rack and pulled it on, flicking her blonde hair from under the collar.

"Heading out for the night, Boss?" a random officer asked. Claire nodded.

"Yep. Take care of yourself, Ashlee."

She'd come to work for this police department in southern Oregon a couple of years ago. At first, they didn't believe she was old enough to even get a job. Her firearms proficiency test soon proved otherwise, and in her three years working here, she'd brought crime rates down almost 20%. Mind you, after doing that in several different cities over ninety years, Claire had pretty much gotten it down to a science.

Somehow, though, Sylar always knew where she was working, and managed to stay clear of that area. Even when she'd worked up in NYC, he'd managed to elude her. It was driving her insane.

Arriving at her apartment, Claire didn't bother to flick the lights on as she walked in. She instead chose to rid herself of the uncomfortable shoes she was wearing. A sound behind her made her tense, though. Hastily, her hand dove under her suit jacket, pulling her side arm from her shoulder holster. She barely got the weapon out before it flew out of her hand by an unseen force. Footsteps sounded behind her, but she didn't turn around.

"Sylar," she said. The returned serial killer smiled, opening his arms, almost as if he were expecting some sort of greeting.

"Claire, Claire, Claire," he began, walking around her. "It's been a long time."

"Ninety-three years this January," she told him, her gaze hard. "I see you haven't changed any."

"Neither have you." He cocked his head to the side some, studying her. "Seems we've reverted to our former ways. And don't even think about reaching for that revolver on your back."

Claire smirked, remembering the additional arm she always carried on her person. What he didn't know was she had another one in the living room.

"Don't think I don't know about the one in the living room," he added. Claire looked up at him, her green eyes fierce.

"That a new ability of yours?" she asked. "Mind reading and X-ray vision?"

Sylar laughed.

"Claire, I wouldn't need to use either of those on you to know where you keep your weapons. After all, I have known you for two hundred and ninety-five years." Claire twitched slightly, jumpy from the police training she'd had drilled into her head. She barely moved, though, before her body was placed under the control of an invisible force.

"Ah, ah, ah," Sylar chastised. "We can't have any sudden movements here, Claire."

"Why are you here, Sylar? You know you can't kill me."

A smirk tugged at the corners of the serial killer's mouth.

"I just wanted to see how my favorite cheerleader was doing." He raised a hand and barely flicked two fingers, and her badge and ID flew from her coat pocket. "So, you're working for the police still. And you've gotten past patrol duty!" A patronizing smile slid across his features. "You're a detective. How fitting, considering the rash of murders that's been plaguing the world for the past ninety years." He shook his head, tsking some. "It seems that even the invincible cheerleader can't bring that madman to justice, though."

"Yeah, well, when the mad man has several abilities that can be used to hide them, that job gets a little difficult." She glared up at him. "But mark my words, Sylar- I will bring you down."

A chuckle escaped the serial killer as he began to walk from her apartment.

"Better find a way to kill me, then." He paused at the door. "I'll be around."

With that said, the door slammed shut, and Claire regained control over her body. Her hands began to shake some as she walked over to where her sidearm was lying on the floor. She knew she had to do something about him... that she had to stop him.

But how? As far as she knew, the only way either of them could really die was from decapitation. And if there was one thing that Claire knew, it was how difficult it was to get near Sylar with his telekinesis. Certainly there had to be another way.

Standing, Claire walked over to her bookshelf, which was filled with books on various subjects. Hadn't there been a virus that was deadly to evolved humans back when she first discovered her power? She reached up and pulled several books down, flipping through them. A passage in one caught her eye. As she read, a look of triumph spread across her face. Hastily, she stood, grabbing her cell phone and dialing a number.

"Hi, Dr. Small, it's Claire... Special Agent Bailey. Yes, it's been a long time. I've got a question for you. Do you still have that lab you used to help the FBI solve that bio terror attack? You do? Would you mind doing me a favor?"

* * *

Atlanta looked almost exactly the same as it had almost thirty years ago, with only subtle changes to the buildings and landscape. Claire knew she was taking a huge risk by coming here after such a long time, but she knew it was a risk she had to take. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the tall building that house Dr. Small's lab.

The lab itself was slightly more cluttered than it had been the last time she'd been there. A few new gadgets were scattered around the room, as well as what appeared to be a few new experiments.

"Dr. Small?" she called, looking around.

"I told you, I'm not helping any more grad students!" a voice yelled from a small office off to the side. Claire smiled some and walked over to it, standing in the doorway.

"Dr. Small, I rest assured, I'm no grad student. In fact, I've already got a doctorate." The older gentleman looked up and an expression of surprise settled on his face.

"Well I'll be," he breathed, a gentle Southern Drawl gracing his voice. "Claire Bailey, you don't look like you've aged a bit!"

Claire couldn't help but to smile slightly at his comment. Even when they were working together when she was with the FBI he'd exhibited a soft spot for her, while absolutely hating the rest of the agents on the task force.

"Thank you so much for helping me, Dr. Small." The man waved her comment off as he walked out of the office.

"Anything for you, my dear," he said. "What do you need this time? Another case that needs to be solved?"

Claire bit her lip hesitantly before setting her book bag down and pulling out a rather large textbook. She opened it to a marked page.

"Actually, I need a virus. But not any virus. I need you to help me make a form of this virus."

Handing Dr. Small the book, she waited for his answer. A frown settled upon his features as he looked back up at her, removing his glasses.

"Ms. Bailey, what exactly do you need this virus for?"

Claire guided the man over to a relatively clean lab table and sat down.

"Dr. Small, Claire Bailey isn't my real name," she told him. "My name is Claire Bennet. I'm three hundred and twelve years old." Reaching in her book bag, she pulled out a file on Sylar she'd compiled. "This is Gabriel Gray, better known as Sylar. He's three hundred and twenty eight years old... and he's the person who's been killing all those people." She looked up at Dr. Small. "I'm bringing him to justice."

* * *

Though it had taken some amount of convincing to get Dr. Small to help her, Claire eventually managed to do it. And so they'd started working on their new version of the Shanti virus, creating one that even Claire herself wouldn't be immune to.

"I still can't believe this," Dr. Small commented late one afternoon as the two were waiting for test results to come back. "You've seen so much... been a part of so much history." He looked over at her, removing his safety goggles. "And this is all from an evolution?"

"Indeed it is," Claire answered. "Though it seems that not everyone's reached this stage yet."

Dr. Small let out a low whistle, shaking his head.

"I'll be," he muttered. "How on Earth have you managed to prevent any one from finding out about you?"

"It took a lot of work," Claire answered honestly. "I try to avoid staying in one place for more than ten years. For a while there, I kept earning different college degrees, but after about one hundred years, college life lost its charm." She shook her head, smirking some at the memories of wild frat parties and excruciating exams. How she'd managed to put up with almost one hundred years straight of that was a mystery to her.

Excusing herself, Claire left the lab, hanging up her lab coat as she walked into the small closet she was currently using as a temporary office for the past two weeks. She opened her laptop and immediately pulled up the news. The headline story was about a murder in Moscow. Shaking her head some, she opened her email and began quickly sifting through those. Had Nik emailed her back?

Something in the background began to beep. Claire quickly stood, throwing on her lab coat and walking back out to Dr. Small. The two walked over to a computer. Dr. Small began typing on a keyboard, muttering under his breath. After a few moments, he looked up at Claire and smiled.

"Miss Bennet, it's ready."

* * *

It was raining when Claire arrived in Moscow, the location of Sylar's latest victim. A friend from the CIA who was undercover here had offered to help her out some should Sylar still be in the area. Claire had gratefully taken him up on the offer.

"Are you sure he is still here?" Claire asked, speaking perfectly fluent Russian. Nikolas, her friend, nodded as he took a sip of his coffee.

"I saw him just earlier today," he answered in equally fluent Russian. "You may wish to be careful, though. He seems to be suspecting something."

"Just do your part, and I'll do mine. Keep an eye on him. I'll take him out when it's time."

Later that day, she sat on the roof of what was formerly the GUM store, scanning Red Square with a pair of binoculars. Her scan was crossing Lenin's Mausoleum when a familiar dark sight caught her eye.

"Nik, I think I've got a visual," she whispered into her radio. "In front of Lenin's Mausoleum. See him? Dark coat, jeans and Chucks."

"Visual confirmed. Take the shot when you want."

Slowly, so as to avoid giving away her position, Claire pulled out the sniper rifle she was using to deliver the virus. Carefully, she lined the scope up, muttering calculations under her breath. Sylar was still there. Why wasn't he moving? Didn't he realize something was going on?

"You taking the shot?"

"Something's off. It doesn't feel right. I can't place my finger on it, though."

All of a sudden, he disappeared. Silently, Claire swore.

"It was a hologram. I think he might be on to us."

"You would be right."

Claire jumped at the voice behind her and spun around to see Sylar standing on the roof with her.

"Silly Claire. Did you really think you'd get away with this? You should know that mere bullets can't kill me. Also, learn a different language and pick less public places to meet your-"

Sylar cut off as a shot rang out from across Red Square. He let out a gasp as his hands shot down to his stomach. When he removed them, they were covered in blood. Shocked, he looked at Claire.

"That's no ordinary bullet," he gasped, falling to his knees.

"Claire, I think I got him!" Nik's voice came over the radio. Down below them, pandemonium had broken out. Something like that hadn't happened in almost fifty years. Sylar looked down at Claire, his dark eyes murderous. He latched on to her arm, and all of a sudden they found themselves in familiar surroundings.

"Recognize this?" Sylar asked. "Odessa, Texas. Where it all started." He staggered some, falling down. From his spot on the ground, he looked up at Claire, pain evident in his eyes. "What did you do to me?"

"That bullet contained a new strain of the Shanti virus specially designed to kill someone like you or me." Claire crouched down by him, looking him in the eyes. "You're going to die, Sylar."

His breath was coming in gasps now. How could this be happening? He was supposed to be virtually immortal.

"Tell me, Sylar, how many people did you kill over the past ninety-three years?"

"I- I don't know," he gasped. "A lot." The characteristic smirk crossed his face. "Ironic isn't it, that my quest for power... for knowledge... ends up being what takes me down." He looked up at her. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Claire. That century when I was gone... I was just doing what you asked." A smirk crossed his face as he looked at the pouches on her belt. "You've got a syringe in your pack."

Claire nodded, not saying a word. Weakly, Sylar lifted a hand.

"May I?"

"You've been waiting for over two hundred years."

With a weak flick of his fingers, Sylar opened the pouch and pulled the syringe out. Claire rolled up her shirtsleeve, and with a gentle motion, Sylar inserted the needle, depressing the plunger. As the emptied syringe clattered to the ground, Sylar looked up, his characteristic smirk crossing his face still.

"Told you I'd kill you one day." He took a shaky breath. "I didn't see you this year for your birthday. Consider this your birthday gift." He closed his eyes. "Happy birthday, Claire. It's over."

With that said, Sylar's chest heaved with one last breath as a veil came over his eyes. Claire reached over and ran a hand over his face, shutting the dark eyes. She could already feel the virus taking effect, but she wasn't scared in the least.

Just years ago, she thought being immortal was overrated... that it caused only problems... was more pain than it was worth. Now, though, she was sure that though it'd taken her over three centuries, she'd finally lived a full life. Not only had she traveled the world several times over, but she'd learned a lot, not just academically, but also about herself. And she'd come to the conclusion that while she could go on without anyone else like her in her life, it was probably best for her just to let go.

Dr. Small would be upset with her; there was no doubting that. But Claire knew that in time, he'd understand why she'd made the choice she had. And like everyone else, he'd forgive her.

A smile crossed her face.

Her eighteenth birthday wish had come true.


End file.
